


until our marrows mix

by melanoradrood, motherofangst



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, NSFW, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, Smut, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Sort of? - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, i still suck at tags . who knew?, it's minorly, like . a lot of them . all kinds . everyone is feeling everything, post scarif, sex with feelings, verbal fighting and then fucking ??, we tried to make a plot out of it but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherofangst/pseuds/motherofangst
Summary: Following Scarif, in the shadows of their recovery, Jyn gets the offer from Mon Mothma to have a spot in the Rebellion. Jyn turns it down, and goes to bid her goodbyes to Cassian.“I want to feel alive.” It’s a weak offering – and she had almost expected more from him – but it’s an honest one.She doesn’t even know how to respond – there was no smirk. And, in truth, there was no mask. His eyes were open and vulnerable in ways that she knew others were not allowed to see – glimpses into his soul. It reminded her of the beach on Scarif, a swooping feeling in her stomach making her feel flighty again and wanting to shove it away with anger like she did everything else. It reminded her of them facing, and accepting, death together. If they had accepted death curling around them threatening to swallow them whole together – why couldn’t they feel life? Running through their veins with more heat and fuel than the destroying power of the very weapon they sought to destroy?





	until our marrows mix

**Author's Note:**

> A collaborative smut fic that has some excuse for a plot between melanoradrood and I.

_"love, i’d never hurt you. but i’ll grind against your bones until our marrows mix."_

__  


* * *

 

It was early. However, early for the ears of the Rebellion was subjective. Early meant that most of the troops were in briefings, trainings, or getting ready to disembark on a mission. Early meant that she would have all the time to speak with Cassian that she needed.   
  
_ No one is going to stop you from leaving, Jyn,  _ Mothma had said, and Jyn couldn’t look at her. Instead she had fixed her eyes upon Draven over her shoulder -- because Draven’s eyes were much more calm. They betrayed less disappointment -- that she could live with.  _ But, I want you to understand the impact that you have made upon all us. Upon the Rebellion, and upon the universe.  _

In the end, Jyn had still declined. And, there was a large part of her that was dead set on leaving without looking back -- without even giving anything else in the Rebellion a second glance. A second thought. But -- she couldn’t do that  _ to him.  _ She couldn’t just leave without thanking Cassian, and giving him a proper goodbye. But -- what do you say to a man that you have accepted death with? 

She would have to think of something quickly -- before she realized it, she was standing awkwardly in front of the door of Cassian’s quarters. It’s a slight pause, a deep breath, and then she knocks. 

She listens, as if searching for any kind of hint of what he might’ve been doing before she had breached his privacy. The only answer she received before hearing the movement of him coming to the door was silence.

When he does open the door, she can’t help but think about how relaxed he looks. How … far it looked from the man she had first met. Albeit, she knew that with the  _ flip  _ of a switch, all of that could change -- that him pulling up that stoic mask was about as easy as slipping on a jacket for him. It was just  _ surreal,  _ that this face belonged to the same man with the sharp edges to his jaw and the dark, untelling look to his gaze. “Jyn,” he greets. And if there’s surprise, it doesn’t really show as he moves to the side to allow her to enter his space.

She shouldn’t be caught off guard by just how  _ barren  _ his quarters looks -- how there is no personal items to be spoken of. Nothing seemingly out of place, and the only hint that it was even occupied was the slight crease to the cot and the blaster by his bedside.

But, as her eyes skim the room and find their way back to him, she’s reminded of why she came here in the first place, “I wanted to … thank you, for everything,” she started, a frown dancing at the corner of her lips. She wasn’t used to such --- to gratitude. And she hadn’t even reached the hard part yet. “And, to say goodbye.”

At first, it seemed as though Cassian was going to negate her thanks, but the rest of her words sunk their weight into his chest and his expression shifted. And --  _ oh,  _ there it was. The shadowed gaze of the Captain as he begins to measure his expression more carefully. “You’re leaving?” he asks, as if he truly needed clarification to her quite obvious statement, “Why?”

She shrugs one shoulder before she’s speaking -- and she begins to feel slightly uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at her; like he’s trying to probe for words she hasn’t even begun to speak yet. “It’s done --  _ I’m done.  _ My father’s plans, his wishes. They’re finished -- and my agreement with Mothma is complete. There’s nothing else here for me, and I’m free to leave.”

There was a low breath that escaped Cassian’s lungs, shifting his weight from one leg to his other -- and Jyn eyeballed how he was seeming to favor it. But, she didn’t allow herself to get distracted by it for too long ; she couldn’t. He was speaking again. Like he didn’t seem to understand --  _ didn’t seem to fathom  _ \-- why she could just ..  _ leave.  _ After everything. “Your actions -- the risks and the chances that you took; the chances that you got  _ others  _ to take. They made a real,  _ viable  _ difference.” He’s stepping forward slightly by this point, and she feels herself puffing her chest out in a natural defense mechanism -- even if she knew there was no real danger here. “The Death Star  _ is gone  _ because of what we did.  _ Because of what you did.  _ There is  _ hope  _ for everyone because of you. We have a  _ real chance  _ for the first time in  _ years --  _ do you not  _ understand  _ what this all means? Do you not  _ feel it?  _ Do you not want to keep feeling that?”

She’s shaking her head before he even finishes speaking -- debating cutting him off, but settling for her words biting at the end of his. “I’ve been fighting my entire life, Cassian. I’m tired of it.”

There’s a laugh that rumbles out of his chest and throat -- but lacks humor, and sounds bitter. “You have been  _ running  _ your entire life, Jyn. Hiding behind fake names; the fighting was merely a side effect. It had no meaning.”

Her lips turn downwards quickly, almost like he slapped her -- and instead of rearing back because of his metaphorical attack, she readies herself for a counter attack. Stepping closer to his own space, she retorts, “Is that not what you do, Cassian? Run around the galaxy like you own it, using fake names and fake stories all to sell your little Rebellion?” He looks like he’s about to speak, but she’s cutting him off quickly, “ _ And don’t  _ tell me it’s different. It’s really not all that different. We both do it for survival, and I’m finished with it.” 

She didn’t expect it to be this hard -- she didn’t expect him to fight her leaving. And now she was in deeper than she could’ve ever imagined. As she was speaking, hands were beginning to work at her shirt until her collar bones and top of her chest was bared -- material merely hanging loosely and carelessly; “Have I not given this galaxy enough?” she demanded, as if asking the universe instead of Cassian -- his eyes finding the scars that were like thin, white constellations against her skin.   


“Your scars show that you were fighting the Empire -- but not for the Rebellion, for yourself.” At this point, he is mirroring her in the way that he’s gotten to the point of shoving his shirt off of his back -- puckered scars hugging at muscles and tendons like tattoos, etched into his skin. Into his soul. Parts of him that could never be erased. And Jyn could feel her heart catch somewhere in her throat when she saw the small, circular scar near his hip -- just where his hem of his pants began -- that she knew Krennic’s blaster had caused. Closing her eyes to it to try and stop the onslaught of the phantom ringing of Cassian’s spine hitting the metal railing out of her ears. And, she was sure it showed for a brief moment --  _ blink,  _ and you’d miss the subtle shift in her expression before green hues were opening once more ; full of just as much of the fire and rage it had held before, all taut lines on her face with fingers curled into her palms. A familiar stance, once that she seeped into easily -- the anger brought her comfort, because the anger reminded her she was still alive. It was like an old friend welcoming her back home. He’s continuing before she has a full chance to recover, “I could tell you the stories of each one of mine -- but, it’s not relevant. Each one is because of the Rebellion, because of a  _ cause --  _ not because of some accident on a kriffing outer rim planet that is better left forgotten. How many of yours do you remember getting?”

Jyn is scoffing at this point, nostrils flaring as she levels herself --  _ or,  _ tries to. And instead she speaks again -- echoing words from earlier, but twisting them around to instead push at  _ him  _ instead, “Have  _ you  _ not given enough, Cassian?” she asks, gesturing with a vague hand at his chest before returning her eyes to his stone gaze -- gaze that she almost believed, at this point, could seer through her just as the Death Star had done to Alderaan. Albeit, she stood her ground as she continued, “You nearly  _ died  _ for them. For your precious cause. And one day, if you keep at it,  _ it is  _ going to kill you. You can accept that?”

“I made peace with that a long time ago.” It was a quick reply. An easy one. Cassian was not afraid to die. He didn’t  _ want  _ to die, but he would still stare it in the face and let himself be swallowed willingly defending his cause. He had  _ intended  _ to, back on Scarif as both Jyn and himself were painted a softer demeanor by the artificial sunrise with its cruel intentions. “I would rather die for them than to live a life without a cause -- live a life beneath the hand of the Empire. I’ve been fighting this  _ my whole life,  _ it doesn’t matter what name they used -”  _ The Republic, The Empire --  _ “-- it has to mean something, in the end.”  _ I couldn’t  _ **_face myself_ ** _ if I gave up now …  _ she hears it again, even if he doesn’t say it. 

She bites back before he can even elaborate much more, “Is it because you have nowhere else to go? Because you’ve let your entire life be built upon the Rebellion, that you have  _ nothing  _ if it is taken from you? That  _ this -- Captain Andor  _ \-- is the only thing that defines you?” He’s snarling before she even makes it to the end of her words -- and he’s stepping into her space, despite the fact that Draven had told her Cassian was still recovering slightly, she could believe otherwise with the ease that he moved. With the way he’s shoving himself into her space so abruptly that she’s lashing back on instinct -- placing a hand on his bare chest and shoving him out so she had room to breathe.   
  
That was when contact was made -- one hand shoving a shoulder into the wall, a wince swallowed by the anger on her features, the other snatching at the wrist of the hand that pushed him, “ _ Don’t --”   _ he hissed from behind his teeth, jaw drawn taut in a manner that reminded her of how angry he had been when they had left Eadu ; his fingers tight, but not bruising, in their vice grip on her wrist. “ _ Neither do you,  _ do you?” he shot back, his face impossibly close to her -- she could feel his hot, rapid breath against her throat. His rapid pulse against her wrist from his fingertips. Almost count his lashes as his eyes narrowed, flickering over her in a way she had seen him mimic while peering down the owner’s end of a blaster. “Would you  _ truly  _ be happier hiding in a kriffing crater of some unknown moon? Is  _ that  _ what you want?”

She only took a moment to consider it -- and, in hindsight -- it was not enough time to think it through, nor give an answer, before she was gritting her teeth and doing what she knew best when faced with a difficult situation. She fought back. Her arm jerked and twisted in an attempt to free her wrist -- bucking off the wall to try and find some leverage against where he had his weight pushed against her. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, like he was suddenly the enemy -- the only true sign that she was frustrated by the circumstances ; the rest of her anger wrapped up in his question. Like the spring had snapped on an  _ animal,  _ that feral  _ need  _ that Cassian had remembered seeing in her eyes before present now just as much. 

“This isn’t about  _ happiness,  _ and it’s not about hiding -- or running away. It’s about  _ living.  _ I’m  _ tired  _ of the death. I’m tired of the pain. It’s about actually escaping this place and finding somewhere that I feel  _ alive.” _

The last word is practically spat out, like  _ venom,  _ but when her eyes focus on his once more is when she freezes. She can see his stoic eyes soften, even if just a little -- even if the lines in his face grew only slightly less defined. And, in that heartbeat, she thought maybe -- maybe he understood her. He might understand why she wants to  _ escape  _ this place -- that she wasn’t running from  _ anything,  _ but instead looking for something to  _ run to.  _ A small part of her, saddened, wonders if  _ he  _ even knows what it’s like -- to feel alive. And then, wonders if it’s even possible given with how wrapped up in death they both are. 

And, before she can it too much thought, he’s cascading into her space all at once -- she can’t breathe. She can’t think -- except about the force of his lips upon hers as he  _ steals  _ the breath right out of her lungs, the hand on her wrist moving to press that hand up against the wall ; body heat still keeping her stagnant against the durasteel wall. 

And … no, she didn’t feel like death. Not with him kissing her. While rough, his lips are warm, warmer than she’s felt in years -- and eyes were blown wide in surprise. She’s still pinned, and she’s painfully aware of his presence all around her, and her only option -- other than to kick him where it hurts -- is to kiss him back.

Her eyes are only half lidded, lips only just parting, when he’s pulling away -- and she hears a sharp inhale from the other. She’s confused, lips still barely parted. His hold on her tightens slightly as his gaze drops; lips still closed enough that she could feel each and every heave pressed out of his lungs -- sending hot chills down her spine. The hesitance confuses her -- and the confusion makes her more frustrated. Her back is still pressed up against the wall, and the only thing that can move without a fight is her neck. So, she’s leaning forward and catching his lips. It’s tiny -- only the slightest of contact that feels like an electric shock -- _ until it’s not. _

His whole body is pressed flush to hers -- almost like he is molding to it -- and it’s pressing her harder to the wall, where she can feel the durasteel against each bump in her spine. The hand on her wrist loosens, but she barely even noticed it, too wrapped up in the taste of his lips. Their lips, then, are parting -- tongues teasing -- and she shifts her head slightly, almost to the side, until he follows her lead. She can feel his hips pressing against hers -- can feel the bare flesh of his chest touching her skin where it was exposed from her shirt -- only just hanging off of her body, and she hears it -- a slight hum, a slight vibration in his throat --

Quicker than she -- or  _ he  _ \-- can think, and more on instinct than anything, Jyn turns them. Her body shifts further down the wall so that the full of his weight pulls forward. He seems surprised by it, and he didn’t even respond for a brief moment as she steps behind him -- Cassian turns with her, and she steps forward. And, in Jyn’s eyes, their dance is now complete.

Her hips press to his this time -- mirroring his positioning from before -- and effectively pins him. Particularly as she grabs his wrist and hauls it above his head to keep it there, her free hand going to his throat. Her thumb digs into the tender skin -- albeit, below the tip of his jawbone; to create a sense of control and danger, rather than to hurt him.  She feels him swallow impulsively behind her hand, and his free hand joins the one around his neck, gripping at her wrist. In two easy moves, he could throw her - probably faster than she could even blink. In three, he could have her pinned against the wall again, or to the floor ;  _ but he doesn’t.  _ Even if she thinks --  _ no,  _ she knows -- he’s already cataloged and worked it all out in his head; each move and each hit. He is the stronger of the two, in this situation, but he’s pliant and still. Watching her, the huntress, as she eyes her prey.

“What are you doing?” she demands, trying to keep from breathing any heavier than she already is -- trying to not show signs that this was affecting her. And trying to resist the urge to kiss him again. She would be lying to herself if she claimed she hadn’t thought about it before, but  _ thinking  _ about it was entirely different from acting upon it.

His eyes flick to her lips where they were slightly swollen and kiss bitten -- and she watches his gaze fall, watches his pupils widen -- and he looks almost like he wants to do it again. Wants to pull small sounds from her. Wants to soften her to the point that he can give her what she needs.

“I want to feel alive.” It’s a weak offering -- and she had almost expected more from him -- but it’s an honest one.

She doesn’t even know how to respond -- there was no smirk. And, in truth, there was no mask. His eyes were open and  _ vulnerable  _ in ways that she knew others were not allowed to see -- glimpses into his soul. It reminded her of the beach on Scarif, a swooping feeling in her stomach making her feel flighty again and wanting to shove it away with anger like she did everything else. It reminded her of them facing, and accepting, death together. If they had accepted death curling around them threatening to swallow them whole together -- why couldn’t they feel life? Running through their veins with more heat and fuel than the destroying power of the very weapon they sought to destroy?

Her fingers press tighter, until dull nails create little half moons in his skin, but she doesn’t move otherwise. She’s waiting for him to  _ add something,  _ to do something. But, instead, he simply watches her. After a moment, she releases him and steps back. His hand is still on her forearm, though, and he jerks her closer, turning to try and once more push her flush against the wall -- ducking, Jyn twists her body, and her arm, so that she effectively slides out of his grasp. He’s slower than usual -- his injuries were worse than hers, she reminded herself, and he was likely still recovering ( as much as he tried to hide it ), and because of this it gave her the upper edge. 

But, it doesn’t matter -- not when he moves with her ;  _ instincts,  _ at least, just as keen as before. He manages to wrap his arm around her waist and pulls her body tight against his. She turns in his arms to face him, and -- almost childishly -- tries to push him backwards. But, it seems, he already has this planned out. Because he’s moving forward, into her, and all she can do is move with his weight until the back of her legs were hitting the bed. She was falling backwards onto the small cot, pulling --  _ tugging  _ \-- him with her.

It’s by accident -- and not design -- that he has her pinned underneath him. But, that doesn’t matter now. Not when his body is pressing into hers, and they’re both watching the other. Calculuating. Waiting on the next move. The next punch. Waiting on a sign to  _ stop --  _ none of which came, for the moment. Whether this was a dance, a fight, or something else, Jyn wasn’t sure. But, she wasn’t going down without pushing back. She wasn’t  _ pushing away --  _ she didn’t want to push away -- but she wasn’t going to make this any easier on him. Because her blood felt like it was pumping for the first time in her life.

His eyes were the first thing to move -- fleeting down to her lips. Watching them as they pressed into a thin line and then pursed out. His eyes lingered there until her hand was moving upwards. She feels his shoulder tense, out of instinct, as though he’s ready to block her. However, instead of the hit he is anticipating, her hand finds a place at his neck -- thumb feathering over the apple of his throat, and the rest of her fingers settling against the back ; practically curving down his spine. She’s still watching his gaze, and there’s no sign that she has any future pretenses of what she’s doing before she does them.

Her hips move in the next beat as her back arches into it, shifting their bodies in a way so that he’s resting between her legs -- hoisting herself upwards so that one of her own legs can snake around his waist. In response, his body rocks so that they could both have better control -- her feet able to dig into the edge of the cot, his weight on his knees. They’re both, however, still watching -- watching, and waiting. Until, finally, her gaze shifts and flickers down to his lips.

Every alarm in Jyn’s mind is blaring red and loud at her ; a voice that sounded a lot like Saw telling her that she should stop herself from taking this any further. That she was taking more steps into a terrible, horrible mistake. Albeit -- that does not stop her from tugging slightly at his neck -- and he’s allowing himself to follow through, leaning into it until his lips are at the flesh of his shoulder, her head turned slightly to look down at him.

His eyes move to her gaze, and he’s so close he can almost taste the salt of her skin; so he does. His lips press against her collarbone, the action causing Jyn to shiver, and he continues to kisses on her skin -- exposed from her shirt having rucked up and slid down her arms. He continues still, eyes closing and causing shadows to dance down his cheeks from his lashes -- some hot and open mouthed, until her reaches her neck. At this, she finally looks away -- baring her throat (  _ She knew about four ways to kill a man in this position  _ ) to expose more skin as he reaches her jaw. Lips part, and a soft sigh tumbles from her lungs -- finally relaxing underneath him.

After a moment, his lips leave the warm of her skin -- and she opens her eyes to look at him. Like this, in this position and with the close proximity, she can see how vulnerable his eyes are -- that unreadable, durasteel mask of his is  _ gone.  _ She wonders, idly, just how many people found themselves able to see his side of Cassian. And,  _ how many were still alive  _ to remember. She assumed that the numbers were dwindling and small, if there were numbers at all. She can see questions, and answers to things she never imagined. It is almost too much, because she doesn’t know what to offer in response. Her default is anger, but she does not think that is was an appropriate response to the openness that this flicker of a moment was giving her. So, she lifts her head and kisses him.

Everything is much more natural now, in a way --- less jerky movements that they seem to be trying to plan out, actions that their bodies naturally decide upon before they do. One of his hands slides down to her hip, running itself down her leg until they cup around her thigh -- hoisting it up a little as he slides both of them up on the cot. Her own free hand runs into his hair -- subconsciously making a note of the noise that elicits out of him in response -- and her lips part, kissing him deeper as she sucks in a harsh breath through her nose. Cassian responds in kind, but -- when she nips at his bottom lip, his hips jerk and he’s grinding his hips up against her in response with a grunt that was swallowed by her lips; and she takes that noise greedily. It seems to give her a good idea, because she’s smirking against his lips and nipping once more -- and, this time, she is sucking on the pink of it before letting go again.

In turn, it only seems to rev Cassian up more so -- who is almost surprised  _ himself  _ at how is hard his heart is racing, how he could hear it in thundering clarity against his skull; drowning out his own thoughts. He can’t contemplate anything other than kissing her again, and the nails that are raking down his back as Jyn grips onto bare skin.

And,  _ oh,  _ it’s not enough. Just having her like this wasn’t enough, and -- at this thought -- he’s pushing himself up on the cot as her hands reach the small area of his back. She is following suit, sitting up with him, and Cassian latches both hands onto her waist, lifting her into his lap where he was still settled on his knees. He has one arm, now, around her waist -- his free hand finally ridding the material of her shirt off of her flesh completely. He gives no care to where it ends up as he tosses it to the side, greeted by bare flesh -- marred with a dusting of scars, much like his own.

His breath hitches, and he mutters something under his breath that Jyn doesn’t recognize, but she makes the quick assumption that it’s in Festian -- but, it doesn’t matter now. Not now that his hand is running down her body slowly as dark eyes drink her in. His touch starts at her shoulder where a scar isn’t fully healed over, between her breasts, and down her hip. She settles her arms over his shoulders, holding onto him as she feels her breath cascading inwards like sonic waves -- they both lean in together, almost as if to kiss -- but not quite. She can feel his breath on her lips, and her lashes are close to touching his. They both seem frozen to the moment, feeling the warm of the other’s skin against their own.

She wonders -- vaguely -- what this is like for him. He doesn’t seem naive to what he is doing, but he also does not seem the type to sleep around quite frequently. (  _ Is that what was happening? Is that where this was going?  _ ) Has he had lovers before? Or was it always all for a mission? She finds herself, briefly, wondering if this was a question she wanted to bring up later ---  _ Oh,  _ but there won’t be a later, Jyn.  _ You’re leaving,  _ remember? 

He doesn’t have to make a move forward, because Jyn is doing it for him. She is sliding her hands down his chest, and he lets his hold loosen around her. She takes this opportunity to lean back just enough to reach between their flush close bodies. Gaze was still locked as she loosens her belt blindly, undoes her bottoms before she is moving onto his -- grazing her fingers across the top of the fabric to tease at the warm skin. She feels a hot surge of satisfaction when she hears his breath hitch at the touch -- but he doesn’t pull away from her until his pants are loosened as well, ready to be pushed down his hips. 

She’s leaning back further, until she is flat on her back, and Cassian lets her lay there for a moment to take it all in -- half naked, with her pants settling low on her hips. She watches his teeth catch his bottom lip, and tries to ignore the funny things it seems to do to her chest as he’s standing from the cot -- looking down at her. His unfaltering gaze does not leave hers -- but, when her hands go to shove her pants down, he finally moves.

Her boots are easy to discard, partially because she’s helping kick them off, and then he’s tugging at her pants -- removing every last stitching clothing he can with one, long tug. His own pants and boots are, frustratingly, still on as he climbs back onto the cot -- knees in between hers as he shifts clothing around just enough to free himself.

However, Jyn already knows what she’s doing, having long decided just how  _ this  _ will go. Using his gaze on her as a distraction and taking advantage of it, she’s quickly turning them both so that he’s pinned on his back -- perhaps, unfairly, again taking advantage of the fact that he is still healing and not completely in sync with his normal reflexes. His gaze looks surprised for a fleeting moment as she straddles his lower body, resting on his cock where it was long hard between her thighs. Her hand is back at his throat, something she begins to sense he does not have an issue with as his jaw juts upwards in what might be  _ challenge  _ \-- her hand low enough to not cause distress or damage, but merely greet at least a  _ sense  _ of control, fingers settling their weight instead on the back of his neck. He is still the stronger one in this situation, and could likely overpower her -- but he doesn’t. 

He lets her have it, head against the cot as gaze flickers down between them to where her hips begin to grind down against him ; and Jyn  _ feels  _ his breath shudder more than she hears it. It takes a few shifts of her hips, and her folds are parted against his length -- and she too is letting out a stuttered gasp that feels heavy against her lungs.

His eyes can’t leave her -- can’t pull away from the image she’s presenting to -- using his length to rub herself off as her eyes close and her head is tipping back. Her free hand is resting against his lower abdomen, nails curling into almost like an anchor as she rocks her hips again, finding an easy rhythm.

His hands begin to shift, and Jyn reacts. She’s moving so that one hand is pinned beneath her knee -- digging into it, the other catching his wrist. She sets it on her hip, and he uses that grip to rock her hips in the same rhythm. And the sweet groan that elicits from him makes a heat in her chest tighten -- at feeling how slick she is, wetting his cock and teasing him -- but not quite giving him what he needs. It’s not enough, and she knows it. It’s a cruel torture he can only endure for so long.

His grip on her hip tightens, and she responds by tightening the fingers at the back of his neck. Her eyes open, watching him watch her. His gaze are back on her face, pupils wide as he watches her lips. A shudder seems to roll itself down her spine as her breathing grows heavier. He loosens the hold, simply riding on her hips as she moves, and her grip softens in kind until her head is dropping back once more and her hold is only brush of fingertips on his skin.

There’s a beat, and Cassian is surging forward. He’s, once more, turning the tables on their little dance so that Jyn is on her back -- and she is fully expecting him to pin her down and slide into her -- to complete the puzzle they were forming, to finish it with the piece she didn’t know she needed. But, instead, his hands box her waist as he moves down her body until his knees settle on the floor -- his face between her thighs. And, as they make brief eye contact, the soft look from before has dissipated into something else. 

Her hands go down to where he sat -- whether to drag him back up, or to grab his hair -- she hadn’t decided before one of his hands were capturing hers and pinning them to her stomach. Her legs are over his shoulders, and she’s so fully exposed and vulnerable. She tugs at the hands in his grasp -- because she’s aching now, so close. She tightens her core, letting out a little huff at how empty she feels, how only a little pressure would give her what she needed.

A small yip slips past her lips when she feels Cassian’s teeth on her inner thigh, nipping at the skin and then sucking in a bruise to the same mark. Breath catches as she looks down on him, and what comes out in place of words is instead a moan as her feet shift with a slight squirm. Her hands jerk once more, but he doesn’t let go -- even as he repeats the same on the other thigh. She rocks her hips as if in an attempt to reach herself, to touch herself, to give herself that final pressure, but his hold remains as he sucks darker marks into where his teeth had just been.

Albeit, her prayers are soon being answered as his tongue parts her folds, licking up her slit and sucking her clit into his mouth -- choking on a breath in her throat as her eyes grow wide before screwing themselves shut tightly with a high-pitched whine. She’s ready to beg, to plead for him to give her what she needs, to let her find release; but she’s biting down on that impulse. In the battle for control, she would not lose. However, he’s sucking hard on the sensitive bud, enough that she almost sees stars. But, before she could find that edge, he’s releasing her and she’s ready to  _ hit him,  _ to scream even. As he moves back up the bed, her legs are still draped over his shoulders.

Before she can complain too much about the emptiness, he’s giving himself two pumps before rubbing the head along her slit. There’s a heartbeat where their eyes met --  _ stardust  _ meets darkness, and there’s unspoken prayers between the both of them. Her body opens up for him and --  _ finally  _ \-- he pressing in, slowly filling her as her back arches in response; a low gasp filling her lungs in kind. She can’t pull away, can’t make him go any deeper, so Jyn just has to wait until he’s pushed all of the way in. A soft whimper rumbles inside of her, and she moves her hand back to her center, to touch herself.

He brushes away her hands, but doesn’t touch her himself. A steady rhythm beings, but it’s  _ not enough.  _ She knows it, he knows it, but every time she tries to touch herself, he’s stopping her. Eventually, he grabs the fingers of one hand -- and, almost dropping her in the process, then the other. Her knees are, at this point, draped over his forearms and her body rests flat on the bed as he begins to grow the speed.

It’s not meant to be a moment of fingers interlocking, but they manage to tangle up together, and she merely tightens the hold as he keeps up the speed. In only a few moments, his breath is falling harder and harsher, and he can’t take too much more. Cassian leans in closer, so that their lips almost brush, and he lets go of one of her hands so that one arm can hold his weight against the bed above her head. The other moves to brush her hair from her features, where it was beginning to grow loose out of her bun. 

She forgets touching herself and only wants to touch him; one hand running over his cheek and her thumb brushing his bottom lip, where she had bitten it. She remembers the kisses, both how she had been rough, and how they had savoured it. All she can think of is about is every touch between them, from her hand holding his -- to the way they held each other on the beach --- and she forces herself to look away, angry with herself all over again.

Her head is clearly growing fuzzy, thinking about things that were not important -- or, were  _ too  _ important -- and, instead, she reaches back between them again, fingers finding the wetness at her center. She rubs at it only once, and Cassian has caught her wrist again. She lets out a huff that verges upon a growl, and tries to jerk her arm away, only for his grip to tighten slightly.

“Let me go,” she snaps -- and he raises a brow, and his thrusts paused halfway into pulling out --  _ well then.  _ If she wasn’t so  _ frustrated  _ with being  _ so close  _ without being able to finish, it would almost be relieving how quickly he stopped himself. The problem is, she didn’t want him to stop -- she just wanted,  _ and needed,  _ release. Becoming longer and longer overdue with each passing moment.

“You want me to let you go?” he’s asking, and she doesn’t have a response as he actually does release her hand. It’s settling on her stomach, and she watches as he moves his hand to where she had only just been trying to reach. 

Lips parting with a shaking breath, Jyn tried to look between them, but was unable to see much. She didn’t need to, though, to know what he was doing, and how  _ well  _ he was doing it. His hips begin to move again, and she gasps, body growing tense beneath him. There’s this horrible look on his face, one she wishes she could shoot off of him, a stupid smirk that says he knows  _ exactly  _ what he’s doing to her.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and despite the smirk against his features, there’s a true intention in his question -- leaning down onto his forearm above her head. 

Her teeth clinch, a sharp retort of “N … -  _ No,  _ I just need you to --” but she gasps around the rest of it, trying to breathe as he pinches her clit. A tiny whimper is drawn out, a sound entirely foreign to her ears, and she closes her eyes -- not able to look at him any longer.

Which, means she’s entirely unprepared when his mouth latches onto her nipple and sucks the bud into a peak before moving onto the other. Her hands are on his back, and she’s arching her body into a tight bow against his body ; like she very well might bend and break in half, a gasp caught in the back of her throat as it quivers.

He’s laughing --  _ kriffing laughing  _ \-- even if it’s just as breathless, and he’s moving down to show attention to her body once more; lapping at the peak of her nipple before nipping at the ever growing sensitive flesh, seemingly  _ pleased  _ by the responses he was getting out of her. His hips are painfully  _ slower --  _ but his fingers are working at the warmth of her center, at the mess of wet that they had created, and he seems to be  _ taking his time.  _ Taking it to pieces and putting it back together as he will up his speed before slowing back down all over again ; driving Jyn further and further into frustration as her heels dig a crater into his back. 

She scarcely notices that he’s switched breasts -- giving it the same treatment as he bites down, hard enough for her to feel ; but not hard enough to truly ache.  _ Oh, she wants him to make her ache --  _ but, she feels it approaching like a tidal wave. Like the devastating wave on the beaches of Scarif that was fated to swallow them whole ; fated, but avoided. Before the twist, the break, the  _ fall  _ can happen -- her hands are grasping desperately for him. Whatever she can slide her hands onto, one on his shoulder and one on the back of his neck, tugging and fumbling to bring him back up her body and to her.

With this, he’s releasing her wrists -- shifting them in a manner that almost causes her vertigo and spins her already swimming, hazed world by altering their position. She’s suddenly in his lap and his hands are wrapped desperately against her skin, Pressing into flesh as if he’s trying to discern a hand hold against sweat and salt.    
  
“ _Cassian--”_ and it’s as close to a  _ beg  _ as the Captain is going to get. He takes it for what it is, clashing their lips together until it hurts -- until teeth knock together in a fight more dangerous than anything that could be fought with blasters. He’s nipping, and sucking, and  _ Force,  _ it’s hard to tell where her breaths start and his end. 

He groans -- it’s deep, and guttral, and vibrates his chest cavity against hers. “ _ Jyn-- _ ” was his eventual, answering response to the near-plea of his name. One hand has moved to her hair where most of it had fallen loose and pushed it over her shoulders, before pressing his forehead against hers and burying that hand deep into the brown of her hair. “ --  _ let go,”  _ he urged, voice sounding strained as nails rake themselves against her scalp. “Let go, and I’ll be right there behind you.”   
  
So, she does -- perhaps against better judgement -- and buries her cries as she finishes around him against his lips; muffled and hot against teeth and bone, and she  _ feels  _ just as much as she  _ hears  _ him hit his limit. He stiffens and stills inside of her -- gasping around a quiet prayer of her name as he came inside of her, filling her up before everything -- the dust, the chaos -- seems to all come crashing down at once around them. Like debris after an explosion that they were in the eye of.   
  
It was a stupidly dramatic way to view it -- but, Jyn could find no other way as Cassian breathlessly pulls away -- still wrapped around and inside of her -- to look at her. And there’s those  _ stupid  _ open eyes again that she thinks she’s seen more than  _ anyone  _ Cassian has known in his entire life  _ in just one night.  _ “... you… should get packing,” he tells her in a hurried breath, as if the earlier conversation and the weight of it just cascaded down on his bones. And he’s shifting, moving to pull out and out from under her ; and she knows, in just a matter of seconds, he would be pulling up that facade all over again. Slamming up the walls thicker than stone or metal -- and she wouldn’t be let back in. And that thought --  _ it hurt,  _ she realized. She didn’t want it.   
  
Jyn lets him pull out -- keening mutely at the trail of fluid that connected them -- but digs her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself in his lap. “ --  _ Kriff it,  _ Cassian, you’re going to be the death of me.  _ I’m staying.”  _

A silence settles in that moment, as the words seem to linger around them, as they sing in her ears. She’s committing herself to something, something greater than herself, something that scared her. She’s committing herself to someone as well, because against all kriffing good sense, she believed him. Believed  _ in  _ him, as he had once believed in her.

He seems to brighten, for just a second, his lips curling, and then he’s no longer pulling away. Her fingers loosen their grip on him as he tightens his hold around her, until their foreheads are touching, and she is settled back into his lap. Arms wrapping around her center, his face buried into her hair, and she can feel his smile against her ear. Her eyes close in response, at how, despite her fears, something about this all felt… right. “ _Welcome home.”_   
  
_ And she knew she was. _  


**Author's Note:**

> A little love goes a long way. You can find me at motherofangst, and my lovely co writer at melanoradrood ; both on tumblr.


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